It’s Christmastime on H Street in the northeast quadrant of Washington, D.C.

Bells are jingling.

A man in a Santa suit marches down the sidewalk blurting Christmas carols on a sousaphone.

Snarling demons with glowing eyes paw at shop windows, beckoning to children and asking, “Have you been naughty?”

If the yuletide season has seemed more like Halloween of late, it’s because a contingent of horned, long-tongued beasties is slowly making its way west from the forests of Germany.

A krampus roams the streets of L.A. (Photograph by Rusty Blazenhoff, Flickr)

Make way for the Krampus, the dark counterpoint to the benevolent St. Nicholas. Come Advent season, ill-behaved children can look forward to a visit from the Krampus, who roams the streets carrying birch switches. If they’ve been really bad, the kids will be stuffed in sacks and carried away to the beast’s lair.

December 5 marks the traditional Krampusnacht, or night before St. Nicholas’ Day (December 6). Despite its origins in Germanic folklore, the Krampus tradition has spread to other European countries and, relatively recently, has jumped the Atlantic to appear on America’s shores. In addition to D.C., the Hyde to Santa’s (or St. Nick’s) Jekyll has become the focus of festivals and parades in places as varied as Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and Bloomington, Indiana. Last year, the Krampus was even featured in holiday episodes of Grimm and American Dad.

So what’s the appeal of organizing events where people dress up as devils to frighten children? Strangely enough, it may be feelings of disconnect during a time that is generally thought to be inclusive that are driving the proliferation of the Krampus—an attempt to inject a sense of community into what has increasingly become a seasonal shopping frenzy.

“[In the United States], there’s a huge focus on consumerism attached to the holidays,” said Jen Horan, a transplant to D.C. from the Netherlands. “Where I lived, the small towns always came together with [someone from] the volunteer fire department usually [portraying] Sinterklaas (a character based on St. Nicholas).”

Others I spoke to at the Krampusnacht event in Washington felt the tradition was an important reminder to appreciate the yin and yang of the natural world.

Spinnabel Lee performs for the crowd at the Krampusnacht Charity Walk in D.C. (Photograph by Devon Rowland Photography)

“I think the Krampus tradition is fascinating to [Americans] because it’s so different from the relentlessly cheerful, sanitized popular American version of Christmas, and alludes to a time when human cultures were closer to nature and the natural cycles of the year,” said Joanna Barnum, a first-time Krampusnacht participant. “Even in modern times there is something satisfying about celebrating the interplay between light and dark, life and decay.”

In keeping with that spirit, the Krampusnacht Charity Walk on H Street seeks to help children, not just scare them. Piers Lamb and Mavi Clay started the parade in 2012 with a small group of people who wanted to dress up and have fun while connecting with the community. The event featured fire performers, a tribe of folk dancers, and Santa—yet another variation on the St. Nicholas figure—and Mrs. Claus.

Lamb may play Santa, the benevolent counterpart to the Krampus, in the parade, but his dedication to helping children goes beyond donning a red suit. Lamb runs a charity called Santa’s Cause, which works to put presents in the hands of foster children who may never have had a present addressed to them.

“I want these children to know they are not just a number or statistic—that others care about them for who they are. And [that] one of those people is Santa,” said Lamb, who says 100 percent of all money raised goes to displaced youth.

What began with ten people dressed in Krampus suits the first year blossomed to include more than 50 participants in 2013. As the ghoulish beasts paraded the streets playfully pawing at children and windows, an envoy at the head of the troupe handed out slips of paper explaining the Krampus tradition to people who stopped to watch with puzzled looks on their faces. A group of Morris dancers (a folk style with English roots—but who’s counting when it’s all in good fun?) trailed behind, twirling, banging sticks, and jingling with bells on their ankles.

Altogether, the Krampus tradition evolving in the U.S. may be one cobbled together from bits and pieces stolen from other parts of the world, but it’s one with a good—albeit slightly twisted—sense of humor and great feeling of togetherness. And that’s what this season is all about.

Jennifer Pocock is a freelance journalist based in Washington, D.C. Follow her story on Twitter @Jenn_Pocock.

Attention, foliage fanatics: we are approaching peak season for yellows and reds. This is not a test. Repeat, this is not a test. Have your best cable-knit sweater at the ready and prepare for a weekend of extreme coziness.

Among leaf scenes, New York’s is one of the best. Governor Andrew Cuomo recently boasted that the Empire State has “one of the most vivid autumns anywhere in the world.” (For Vermont, those are fighting words.) Spotters from I Love New York track changes, issuing a thorough weekly report in which pigment progress is described in terms of percentages and words like scarlet, salmon, and rhubarb are used to distinguish between hues. It’s all very precise.

Politics aside, New York does have a pretty impressive fall array, especially upstate in the glacier-carved region known as the Finger Lakes. Here’s the scoop on visiting the region and soaking up the autumn color show.

> See:

While less intrepid leaf-peepers might be content to sit back with a glass of locally produced Riesling (see the “Drink” section below), adventurous gawkers should visit Watkins Glen State Park. There, you can climb some 800 stone steps, meander through tunnels, and explore more than a dozen waterfalls. Follow the gorge trail and you’ll come to Rainbow Falls, which takes on a kaleidoscopic effect come autumn.

You’ll also get an eyeful along Route 20, which, along with Route 5, has been deemed an “Authentic American Road.” Stop in the small town of Auburn to stretch your legs and check out a few historical hot spots. The Harriet Tubman Homeand the Seward House (as in William Seward, President Lincoln’s secretary of state and right-hand man) are both nearby. And since you’re a sucker for colorful spectacles, check out the Willard Memorial Chapel, whose Tiffany-designed interior is sure to stun.

If you’re itching to get back to the trees, why not head to an orchard? Do some picking, listen to live music, and grab a glass of cider (alcoholic or virgin) at Beak & Skiff Apple Orchardsin LaFayette. Depending on your day (Rain?! During prime peeping?!), you may want to sample the hard stuff. No slouches with an apple, Beak and Skiff now distills vodka and gin from the fruit. Try some in their new 1911 Cafe and Tasting Room.

> Eat:

The city of Syracuse is always a good place for eats, and, like leaf lovers, the local fans are fond of the color orange (and blue, of course). At Empire Brewing Company, feast on an elk burger or an andouille po’boy and ask your waiter for the perfect beer pairing. Of course, the craft Roasted Pumpkin Ale is pretty popular this time of year.

Muranda CheeseCompany in Waterloo (the birthplace of Memorial Day) is another worthwhile stop. You won’t get a sit-down meal, but you can do a full cheese tasting and take some Colby and cheddar, not to mention a pretty mind-blowing blue, with you for the road.

If you’re in the mood for brunch, the Crystal Lake Café in Interlaken is spot on. The restaurant sources local meats, cheeses, and produce, so the menu changes often, but recent bites have included mixed berry muffins with orange-marmalade butter and seared crab cakes with poached eggs over focaccia toast. Not only is there a view, you’ll be in prime wine-tasting position, as Americana Vineyardsis right next door.

> Drink:

The great thing about the Finger Lakes region is that it’s easy to merge the foliage and wine trails into one. But the question remains: Does one wine complement the foliage more than another? Does a red maple go better with a Malbec than a Pinot gris? Probably a silly thought, as a bottle of anything at Chateau LaFayette Reneau is bound to satisfy both your vino needs and arboreal appreciation. For starters, grab a glass of the Hector winery’s award-winning 2013 semi-dry riesling and step out onto the Chateau’s back porch to admire panoramic views of Seneca Lake.

Then there’s Americana Vineyards, where guests can sample homemade fudge while mingling with local celebrities Max and Rubie, the winery’s two resident Labs. Try Apparition, a crisp semi-dry white with a spooky name. For more sensory overload, take a drive around Cayuga Lake on scenic Route 90. Stop at Long Point Winery in Aurora and have a taste of their estate-grown Chardonnay along the way.

> Stay:

For a hotel that’s as authentic (and in many cases, just as old) as the indigenous hickory trees that surround it, book a room at the Sherwood Inn in Skaneateles. Originally built as a tavern in 1807 and even serving briefly as a hospital, the establishment has changed names and owners several times in recent decades. With its lake views, fireplaces, and antique furniture, it’s the kind of place that makes you want to get comfy with a good book.

Equally charming are three lakeside sister properties—theAurora Inn, the E.B. Morgan House, and the Rowland House, known collectively as the Inns of Aurora—that all sit on Cayuga Lake and date back more than 100 years (nearly 200 in the case of the Aurora Inn). These historic digs are all owned by the founder of the American Girl doll empire, Pleasant Rowland.

While you won’t find a mini-me waiting on your bedspread, the surrounding village is cute enough to belong in an alternate storybook reality. Case in point: wander down to Dorie’s Bakery, where you’ll find old-timey jars filled with warm snickerdoodles. Whatever the leaves are doing, this is 100 percent peak perfection.

Amelia Mularz is a freelance writer. Follow her on Twitter @ameliamularz.

I had only walked three minutes from my hotel in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan’s capital, when I stumbled upon a former empire.

Coming to Kyrgyzstan last fall, I wanted to see what remained of the Silk Road that snaked through that spiky Central Asian country for centuries, bridging the vastness of Asia and the West with caravans bearing silk, gems, and spices. In the ancient city of Osh in the south, for instance, remnants of Asian, Russian, and Persian realms still weave together in surprising ways.

That crisp morning in Bishkek I paused at bouquets of flowers leaning against a statue of Lenin. It was the Day of the Great Socialist Revolution, and Communist Party faithfuls still gather and make speeches here while waving red-starred flags and driving Cold War-vintage cars. Though now officially called the Day of Reconciliation and Agreement, the fact mattered little to party members who hooked up a portable sound system and addressed the crowd in the grand old, rambling style.

Kyrgyzstan is steeped in history, with a Russian presence going back to the 1800s, when the czar vied with Europe’s empire builders and redrew Russia’s map of Central Asia to include “Kirgizia,” prompting local uproar and causing many Kyrgyz to flee to China.

The country eventually became a full Soviet Social Republic in 1936. Strolling across Bishkek’s vast Ala-Too Square, I passed another statue, this time one of the Soviet era’s leading authors, Kyrgyz writer Chingiz Aitmatov. In a display of Kyrgyzstan’s culture of reading, families were having their photos taken beside him.

Aitmatov, no apparatchik mouthpiece, probed the conscience of the Stalin era. My suitcase had a D.C. library copy of his play, The Ascent of Mount Fuji, which hinges on a reunion of World War II veteran friends in the mountains near Lake Issyk Kul. Secrets and guilt churn just below the surface, in a sort of a Soviet The Big Chill.

Leaving Bishkek, I headed south and after a ride through the storied markets of Osh, rode out into the snowy Pamir Mountains. The landscape evoked the Old American West: dry canyons, snow-tipped ridges and peaks, cowherds and a lifestyle that has changed little in centuries. These were the yurt-dwelling nomadic villages that had endured after the great empires fell.

In the south my guide was Arslaen, who had close-cropped hair and a personal history that includes a Greyhound trip from Seattle to New York and a year bartending in Turkey. The ringtone on his cell phone had a spaghetti Western sound—I thought it was the theme to High Plains Drifter, but he informed me that it was the Scorpions’s “Wind of Change.” His favorite author is Aitmatov.

In the town of Chong-Alai, where we had arranged a homestay with a local family, I could imagine the reality of life in a caravan. First thing in the morning and last thing at night, as I headed through the snow to the outhouse, real life on the Silk Road became bracingly clear. And though my host family hauled water long distances for cooking and drinking, in the talk over meals they showed a nimble humor and worldly awareness.

My Lonely Planet guide to Central Asia included a “Greendex” that rightly highlighted Kyrgyzstan’s investment in community-based tourism. By embracing a model that directly benefits local operators with minimal interference from middlemen, the country has managed to reinvent itself as a budget travel destination, and preserve its landscapes and local craft traditions in the process. Part of the effort involves preserving musical heritage in these remote Pamir Mountains, where traditions sometimes hang by a thread of a few individual musicians.

Ideas flow in both directions on the Silk Road. Here, Bart Simpson does his part on Kyrgyz TV. (Image courtesy David A. Taylor)

Kyrgyz music and storytelling reflect the ancient Muslim empires that took refuge in these mountains. As Michael Morgan recounts in his fascinating book, Lost History,when the Fāṭimid dynasty—which had shaped medieval Cairo as a global center of learning from the 10th to 12th centuries A.D.—shifted its base eastward to Persia, its sophisticated culture left a deep mark in the region.

Yet, conversations in Kyrgyzstan still turn unexpectedly to the Soviet era. One morning in Naryn, a pleasant town nestled between ridges 40 miles from China’s western edge, I sat with several country veterinarians as they talked about treating camels, performing C-sections on cows, and managing the risks of animal epidemics since the Soviet Union’s collapse.

This echoed a story I had heard in Bishkek from a Kyrgyz veterinarian named Madalbek who recalled even rougher days in the 1930s, when his grandfather struggled to protect their animals, first from the insurgents, then from Stalin. When the dictator’s men threatened to send the grandfather to the gulag, the family fled more than 100 miles east to Kashgar, another ancient trading hub in China. “Everyone just got on their horses and took off,” Madalbek recollected. “It was summer.”

And, of course, there is a third empire looming at the end of the Silk Road: China. In Naryn, I watched as truckers stopped in the white dusk of early winter to lay out chains on the ground in preparation for a starlit crossing of the jagged peaks. Seeing as we had already witnessed several rigs jackknifed on the icy switchbacks, this was a chilling encounter. I can still hear the sound of their chains rattling as we passed on the narrow road.

Back in Bishkek, I realized another empire stalking the Silk Road is the one I came from. When Bart Simpson appeared on my hotel TV screen with a star and crescent over his head, East and West truly merged.

Gauzy halos of gaslight in the fog, men and women in silhouette, stark or shrouded moons, shimmering columns of reflected light on a river, kerosene lanterns and fireflies in an almost clandestine duet between the ancient and the modern, deep in the night.

In his genius for creating a kind of spectral moodiness, Kiyochika was not only a brilliant draftsman, he was spiritually ambitious as well.

“Fireflies at Ochanomizu,” for instance, depicts, with a vanishing point perspective, the hidden reaches of a river, where floats a wooden boat, its cabin illuminated from within by lantern light; all around, fireflies punctuate the background of silhouetted trees like free-form scatters of braille.

Yet Kiyochika has fixedly placed, at the center of the composition, a constellation of fireflies up in the crepuscular sky. By doing this, the artist has elevated one of nature’s oldest ways of lighting the world to an almost mythological level of regard. And the city feels quite nearby, too, making the fireflies all the more a symbol of a flickering-out past.

However, mine are unlettered perceptions, merely amateur notes from a hopeful aficionado of Japanese art. Whereas to tour “Kiyochika: Master of the Night” with the gift of commentaries by Dr. James Ulak, senior curator of Japanese art, is to be truly educated in the accomplishment of Kiyochika’s vision. Since I knew next to nothing, facts about Kiyochika’s life and work were each a revelation.

Still, Jim, in a few words, always got to the heart of things. He has a slightly formal, elegant way of making intimate the unifying and disparate elements of Kiyochika’s art, without the least bit of didacticism. His way of offering everything from esoteric anecdote to a wider cultural context calls to mind haiku master Bashō‘s concept of “wandering scholarship,” which leaves room, in even the most refined intellect, for surprise discovery at every turn.

To be sure, Kiyochika made woodblock prints depicting daytime scenarios as well, which are immensely impressive. But it is in Kiyochika’s nocturnal world, the stylized sense of alienation, the almost violent light-filled tears in the fabric of the night sky, the powerful entrance of modernity in the form of locomotive cars full of the silhouettes of anonymous passengers, those ghostly fireflies, where he seems to most powerfully evoke a kind of inchoate anxiety, if not melancholy itself.

Kiyochika is at once grounded in the physical world and existential—for all of its immediate presence, his beautiful full moon seems also to contain the elegiac anticipation of an orb soon to be lost to us in daylight, therefore given to immediate nostalgia, at times even to a kind of erotic memory. In this he is a master of illuminated paradox.

Kiyochika is called Japan’s first modern artist. I think of him also as the first Japanese noir filmmaker, though in woodblock prints. It is startling to learn that Kiyochika was never formally trained as an artist. In his early 20s, he left Edo to wander the provinces, and nurture his drive to create.

But imagine this: When his self-imposed exile ends, he returns to find his hometown (now Tokyo) completely transformed by “railroads, steamships, gaslights, telegraph lines, and large brick buildings—never before seen entities that were now ingrained in the cityscape,” as the Sackler website points out.

The psychological and visual transformation he experienced was formalized in the woodblock prints we now see in “Kiyochika: Master of the Night.” As the brochure informs us, he collaborated with a publisher to release a hundred single-sheet woodblock prints of the rapidly developing city. Kiyochika recorded 93 views of Tokyo between 1876 and 1881, when a fire engulfed the city, ending the project. The Sackler exhibit presents 42 of the completed prints.

To declare favorites is to indulge, as the great novelist Jun’ichirō Tanizakisaid, “the dubious expression of ignorance in the need for aesthetic hierarchies.” Still, I mentioned to Jim that during my six visits to “Kiyochika: Master of the Night”—and he graciously did not frown—I found myself lingering the longest with one woodblock print in particular.

“This print is in certain ways profoundly realistic,” Jim says, studying “Ryōgoku Bridge viewed from Senhonkui” up close, “not the least of which reason is that it shows a man at work, fishing. That’s an obvious thing, but beautifully rendered.” Jim stepped back and gestured at the work with quiet animation.

“You can see the undulating current,” he continues. “This is the exact place in the river where the saltwater meets fresh water, and was good for fishing…. You can almost feel the strenuous reaching of the fisherman toward the water reeds—perhaps [he was] trying to rustle up a giant carp or two, which were treasured delicacies in Edo period cuisine.”

Such is the perspective that a section of sky seems almost held up by one of the wooden pilings. “This is a study in chromatic variations of sky—you see what the fisherman sees when he looks up from his labors,” Jim says. “You can imagine the fisherman feeling the sky is slightly threatening of rain, maybe, or maybe not…[Kiyochika is] a master of creating atmosphere. And here again, we are placed at the outskirts of the city, and yet there’s a peacefulness, the expression of something older, an older way of life.”

When we reach the end of our tour, I want to say to Jim right then, but cannot yet put the experience properly into words, that no museum exhibit I have ever attended in the world struck such deep chords of solace and unease than Japan’s “master of the night.”

Two weeks after my arrival in Patagonia, I found myself in the middle of a ranch with a freshly slaughtered lamb at my feet. It seemed stranger than fiction—a city girl from Miami suddenly transformed into a modern-day Calamity Jane.

That may be a little dramatic, but Patagonia is a dramatic place. It’s not uncommon to experience four seasons in one day, nor is it strange to see a fresh puma kill on your morning walk.

It’s no wonder people call it one of the last wild places on Earth.

Patagonia National Park

Ever since I read Bruce Chatwin’s In Patagonia, I’ve wanted to follow in his footsteps. When Chatwin went there, in the 1970s, he described a land of dark caves, blue glaciers, hard-bitten gauchos, displaced Tehuelches, and weary immigrants. In all its impressive beauty, Patagonia was (and still is) a haven for adventurers, artists, and nomadic misfits of all sorts.

And at the end of 2012, I was poised to realize my dream when Conservación Patagonica (CP) hired me to teach English at the nascent Patagonia National Park. My plan was to stay for three months to teach, explore, and finish work on a novel. I ended up staying nearly five times that long.

A guanaco and her chulengo (baby) (Photograph by Linde Waidhofer)

CP was founded in 2000 by Kristine Tompkins, the former CEO of the Patagonia clothing company, to preserve the region’s unique flora and fauna through the creation of national parks and, at the same time, to bring economic opportunity to surrounding communities and engender local buy-in to the concept of conservation. After finding success in establishing Monte León National Parkon Argentina’s coastline, Tompkins turned her attention to Chile’s Chacabuco Valley.

In 2004, Tompkins purchased one of the largest sheep ranches in Chile, the Estancia Valle Chacabuco, to serve as the heart of the national park. But there was work to do: The native grasslands there had been overgrazed and animals such as guanacos, huémul deer, puma, and Andean condors–some of which are already imperiled–were disappearing from the landscape.

After years of CP-instituted habitat-restoration and wildlife-monitoring programs–employing many gauchos who had worked on the ranch–the natural balance is finally coming back to this biodiversity hotspot.

Life in a Park-in-Progress

Having a national park as a backyard was exhilarating. I had unfettered access to hiking trails, mountains, lakes, rivers, valleys, forests, steeps, and grasslands. The landscape often brought me to tears, and I don’t cry easily. I saw foxes, horses, deer, guanacos, flamingoes, and hares on a daily basis; once, I saw a puma dart out of the grasslands and tear up and over a hill.

Of course, it wasn’t always easy living in such an isolated place. Road closures due to rockslides, ice, and mud were part of daily life, the Internet was slow or nonexistent, and machismo was (and is) an ever-present reality. The winter, with its darkness and solitude, was the hardest season for me to endure; I did, however, gain an appreciation for boxed wine and the warmth of a simple wood stove.

There will be more people to share the experience when the park is opened to the public as a privately managed preserve at the end of 2014. In time, Conservación Patagonica intends to donate the park to the Chilean government, making it a truly national park. And with its smart use of solar, micro-hydro, and hydrogen energy, Patagonia National Park is on track to become the first energy-independent national park in the world.

Anatomy of a National Park

The Lodge at Valle Chacabuco (Photograph by Linde Waidhofer)

The park headquarters complex is made up of a welcome center, restaurant, a natural history museum, six-room eco-lodge, and housing for rangers and other park employees. Meant to be a mirror of their surroundings, the buildings are constructed from stone quarried in the Chacabuco Valley, recycled wood from the Patagonia region, and copper–one of Chile’s most abundant natural resources.

In a similar way, Patagonians cannot be separated from the land–or their traditions. Their culture is infused with superstitions (eat a calafate berry and you’re destined to return to the region, for one) and the gaucho identity is reflected in their anecdotes, dress, and facónes—the large knives men wear tucked into their pants. Their code of conduct can be summed up in one word: aguantar–to endure.

Over rounds of maté and traditional lamb asados, I gained the trust and friendship of many. (Being fluent in Spanish helped.) The park would not exist if it weren’t for these stalwart locals who serve as rangers, mechanics, cooks, trail builders, tractor drivers, dishwashers, landscapers, wildlife monitors, firewood choppers, butchers, and ranchers. They accepted me, called me la gauchita.

Like Chatwin, I believe that some of us have “journeys mapped out in our central nervous systems.” Living in Patagonia forced me to slow down and do things outside of my comfort zone: I slit a lamb’s throat; I learned to build a fire; I galloped on a horse alone in the middle of the pampas; I helped track a family of endangered huémuls. I may have left Patagonia, but its people and wild beauty will stay with me.

When the maple-syrup-drenched croissant touched my tongue, I knew that this Martin Picard brunch was worth the delighted squeals escaping from my fellow hungry foodies who had made the hour-plus pilgrimage from Montreal to his remote cabane à sucre(sugar shack) in Mirabel, Quebec.

The croissants were flanked by other delicacies–smoked meats, homemade yogurt infused with maple syrup, gravlax, a variety of pickles and breads. This was only our first course at the McAuslan Brunch, one of many events Picard hosts throughout the year at his sugar shack, where reservations are made months in advance and every menu is unique.

Huddled around the picnic tables, our group was ready for the imminent food coma to be brought on by dishes like tourtière filled with sweetbreads and chicken stuffed with foie gras and lobster. While the plates kept coming, I let the experience–a continuation of a long tradition of family and friends gathering for a communal feast at a sugar shack before sugaring season–wash over me.

Quite the opposite of hibernation, winter in Quebec is a time for togetherness. The barriers of sitting together with strangers at our table were gone with the platters edging the corners of our table; everyone enthusiastically discussing our journeys to this cabane and making memories over jugs of McAuslan ale. Sometimes, the simplest things are the sweetest.

Whether you’re a traditionalist or in search of a modern take on Montreal’s culinary landscape this winter, here are seven ways to get a taste for this vibrant French-Canadian city:

1. The Classic:Poutine

A side of french fries piled high with oozing cheese curds and gravy is the unofficial way Montrealers warm up on cold, winter days. Twenty-four-hour La Banquise is the most popular spot for a casual (and relatively cheap) indulgence, offering up more than 30 “styles” of poutine to choose from, including the high-voltage La T-Rex, which features ground beef, pepperoni, bacon, and hot dog.

Au Pied de Cochon and Garde Manger opt for decadent toppings (think lobster and foie gras) in their takes on the classic Québécois dish, while Blackstrap BBQ’s “Burnt Ends” version features skin-on fries slathered in brisket and an herbed hickory sauce.

2.The Festive: Montréal en Lumière

In just 15 years’ time, Montréal en Lumière (February 20-March 2, 2014) has established itself as one of the world’s biggest winter festivals. The multidimensional fete includes a fine-dining program centered around a theme. To underscore the milestone anniversary, this year is dedicated to celebrating all things Montreal. Included in this year’s program are a tribute to Montreal’s chefs and their signature dishes, regional wine tastings, and dozens of other special events.

3. The Indulgent: Hot Chocolate and Sweet Treats

Cacao 70’s take on the simple winter warm-up is nothing short of sweet and and includes nine different choices. Taste test their inventive desserts, which range from chocolate-peanut-butter pizza and grilled marshmallows to its “worldwide cocoa collection,” which features two dozen different kinds of chocolate from all over the world.

4.The Traditional: Sugar Shacks

Quebec’s sugar shacks now produce up to three quarters of the world’s maple syrup, but historically they were a luxury–a private source of sugar for families of greater means.

La Sucrerie de la Montagne is one of the most famous shacks in the greater Montreal area (about an hour west of the city center), where guests gather over a traditional meal that can include pea soup, ham with maple syrup, eggs, sausage, pork rinds, crepes, and, of course, maple taffy or maple syrup hardened on snow. The “sugaring off” experience includes musical entertainment and a ride in a horse-drawn sleigh or wagon in addition to the feast.

In downtown Montreal, the shack’s latest incarnation is an urban pop-up called La Cabane, a prix fixe menu created by celebrated Montreal chef Giovanni Apollo. The menu fuses the classics with modern twists and runs from March 6 to April 20, 2014.

5. The Intoxicating: Winter Cocktails

Homing in on the right bar becomes more important in the winter when the streets are icy. For an extravagant night out, my choice is La Champagnerie. Though bubbles reign supreme here, as the bar’s name suggests, a Flaming Buck–a special winter cocktail concocted from maple syrup, Jim Beam Black, Jägermeister, and mint leaves–will warm you up tout suite.

Happy hour, or cinq à sept, is another popular option for cheap and cheerful cocktails in the City of Saints. Le Lab Comptoir à Cocktails pays homage to tiki drinks with their “it’s five o’clock somewhere” special, and locals love Bar Waverlyin Mile End.

6. The Playful: Nordic Cuisine In A Yurt

Experience the nomadic cultures of northern Europe the Montreal way at the Society for Arts and Technology (SAT). This winter, the Society’s Culinary Lab is hosting a playful celebration of Nordic cuisine in a traditional yurt constructed on the SAT’s roof. Share plates of smoked fish, a selection of Nordic cheeses, grog, and mulled wine–all from the comfort of a fur-clad seat. Claim your spot until March 1.

7. The New: Montreal’s Newest Take on Tea

Tea salons are not only a great way to escape Montreal’s frigid temps, they’re also one of its newest trends. Popular brunch spot The Sparrow recently opened its non-traditional tea room, Le Salon Cardinal, for an inspired selection of teas, scones, and other treats. The two-level space allows for tea and conversation on the first floor; on the second, you can work on your computer and hang out in a room full of eclectic decor.

Natalie Taylor is a freelance writer based in Toronto. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram @_nctaylor.

Last Christmas morning, we heard a knock on the door at the studio apartment we had rented in Bali. We opened it to find Agus, the building’s property manager, who held a spiky hunk of alien fruit the size of a football in one hand and a glistening machete in the other.

Smiling, he announced: “Special gift for Christmas. I bring you fresh durian from the tree in my garden.”

The apartment was tucked away in a residential neighborhood on a quiet dirt road in Kuta — just a half mile from the famous beach there, but worlds away from the ubiquitous all-inclusive resorts with their tiki torches and limbo contests.

During our yearlong round-the-world journey, we rented flats and cottages on six continents to save money (rentals are often cheaper because there is no housekeeping staff and guests can cook their own meals). But we soon discovered an unexpected benefit: cultural immersion.

A flat we rented in Paris. (Photograph by Michael Milne)

Unlike hotels and hostels, rentals aren’t typically located in major tourist areas. While they may be a bit further afield, they’re near food markets, shops, and services residents use as they go about their daily lives.

After just a few days of patronizing the local butcher, baker, and candlestick maker, we’d be able to recognize a few faces and initiate simple conversations. The universal language of a friendly smile and a nod made us feel like we lived wherever we happened to be at the time.

Recently it has become easier to find vacation rentals online, a boon to travelers and property owners alike. Sites like VRBO, HomeAway, and Airbnb have done for the vacation-rental business what eBay did for just about everything else.

Owners list their properties on one of these sites, which usually provide some sort of booking protocol and payment system. (This varies from site to site; be sure to check the fine print.) Property listings provide detailed descriptions, photographs, and pricing, so searches can be made based on criteria such as neighborhood, amenities, and number of bedrooms.

And you can find a match just about everywhere. In addition to booking rentals in more established hubs like Paris and London, we’ve leased flats in Shanghai, Dubai, and Buenos Aires, cottages in New Zealand and Scotland, even a house on a 3,000-acre cattle ranch in Australia.

To begin your search online, simply enter the term “vacation rental” and your destination. Develop a list of favorites from the many sites that will pop up, then follow up with your top picks through the online form to begin a dialogue with the property owner (most of the time, you’ll finalize arrangements directly with them).

Developing a relationship with the rental’s owner provides an immediate link to the neighborhood before you even arrive. Think of them as your unofficial tickets to cultural immersion.

The 800-year-old church where we watched our lay-preacher host conduct Evensong services near Devon. (Photograph by Michael Milne)

When we rented that cattle ranch in Australia, the owner, Rob, took us for an impromptu kangaroo-viewing safari at dusk in his battered pickup. And when we visited Porto, we shared a Sunday dinner of freshly grilled sardines in a remote fishing village with our Portuguese host family, including their set of nine-year-old boy triplets.

Since the owner of our vacation cottage in Devon was a lay minister, we discovered that the 900-year-old stone chapel perched atop a windswept cliff nearby held simple prayer services on Saturday evenings. While the wind roared outside, we sang hymns by candlelight with a handful of other worshippers; as our shadows danced across the stained glass windows it was easy to imagine we had been transported back into medieval times.

And then there was the durian back in Bali. The “stinky fruit” our host brought us is banned from most hotels throughout Southeast Asia because the smell lingers in rooms for weeks. But we weren’t staying at a hotel. Agus proudly sliced open the giant spiky fruit, revealing pale white flesh with the consistency of an avocado. As it turns out, they don’t emit a foul aroma if they’re freshly cut. The flavor was sweet with a slightly pungent aftertaste.

We stuffed about two pounds of leftover durian into our fridge, then headed out for a Christmas walk on the beach. When we returned a few hours later, we found cultural immersion of a different sort: a stench that permeated every corner of our flat.

We eventually got rid of the smell, but like the best travel experiences, the memory lingers on.

Larissa and Michael Milne sold everything to travel around the world for a year, then forgot to stop. Follow their adventures at changesinlongitude.com and on Twitter @Changes_Long.

“Covered and chunked, or diced and peppered?” This Southern argot for hash browns dished out by the waitress at a roadside diner near Charleston left me perplexed.

My girlfriend, Jenny, and I decided to escape the creeping New England cold by heading south on a road trip that would combine the travel ingredients we like best: a sprinkling of history, a heaping portion of outdoor adventure, and plenty of food.

Charleston seemed a good pick. Until, that is, our (fortunately patient) waitress started to frown at the puzzled look on my face. “Not from around here?” she quipped, then added with a quick smile, “It isn’t all that hard to decide: everyone in the South prefers their hash browns covered and chunked.”

With that, she took my order, or rather ordered for me – the start of many new experiences on our first sojourn below the Mason Dixon line.

We headed off with stomachs packed full of these great tasting hash browns (think crisp, shredded potatoes covered diced ham and tangy melted cheese), and in desperate need to burn off the carb-induced energy boost.

When we saw the wooden sign for theMiddleton Equestrian Center, a stable located in the Low Country some fourteen miles from downtown Charleston, we decided to make a stop. We mounted up for a trail ride that brought us alongside the historic Middleton Place. Jenny, who grew up with horses in the small town we both hail from in Maine, took the lead.

As we rambled past what looked like ancient oak trees that dot the plantation, it felt like we had somehow time-warped back to the 19th century. We rode past ancient rice fields and historical outbuildings, and clopped through marshland along the Ashley River, where we spied a healthy population of alligators sunbathing at the water’s edge.

With midday temperatures climbing into the 70s (the equivalent of a hot summer’s day back home in Maine), we decided that the beach ought to be the next stop on our impromptu itinerary.

Sullivan’s Island delivered the perfect afternoon. Located across the harbor from downtown Charleston (near Fort Sumter), the beach proved a quiet escape, with working shrimp boats dotting the water and the fresh salt air filling our lungs as we walked barefoot along the sand.

As the sun sank into clouds of crimson and auburn, our stomachs began to growl. For our next culinary outing, we decided to survey the locals, and we were told again and again of a little spot called the Glass Onion. When someone told us it was where “the local chefs eat,” we knew we had our place. It was clear when we got there it was our kind of restaurant – forget all that fussy fine dining stuff, just give me good food and ambiance.

The Glass Onion’s menu includes Southern classics like fresh, wild-caught Carolina shrimp served atop a bed of smoky bacon, beet greens, and creamy grits, but we opted for their flagship fried chicken. We were lucky they had an extra serving on hand (the dish is so popular that the restaurant normally requires patrons to order 24 hours in advance), and discovered a culinary contradiction of the best kind: a delightfully crunchy outside paired with spoon-slicing tenderness within.

With most of our college friends already talking about traveling to spring break parties in a few months, returning to sample more of Charleston’s charm sounds a lot nicer to us. And this time, I’ll know exactly what to say the next time a waitress asks, “Covered and chunked, or diced and peppered?”

]]>http://intelligenttravel.nationalgeographic.com/2013/01/21/coming-in-from-the-cold-in-charleston/feed/2Very Presidential D.C.http://intelligenttravel.nationalgeographic.com/2013/01/18/very-presidential-d-c/
http://intelligenttravel.nationalgeographic.com/2013/01/18/very-presidential-d-c/#commentsFri, 18 Jan 2013 15:24:31 +0000http://intelligenttravel.nationalgeographic.com/?p=39451As Washington, D.C. prepares for Inauguration Day, museums, galleries, and historical attractions are putting presidential history — from the first campaign speeches to everyday life after the White House — front and center.

Lincoln fans, or should I say, Lincoln fans, will be especially charmed. This year marks the 150th anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation, and guess what? Visitors can check out the final signed version, and even the very first draft Honest Abe penned at his summer home.

Headed to Washington, D.C. for this historic event? Make your visit count with these ten must-do activities around town:

Jackie and John F. Kennedy at Madame Tussaud's. (Photograph by Cliff1066, Flickr)

1. Address the nation from the White House press podium. So presidential, but so very unlikely, right? Well, yeah, so get to Madame Tussauds to make your remarks from a look-alike podium instead. Meet and greet all 43 U.S. Presidents (made of wax, of course), conduct official business from the replica Oval Office, dress up like Abe Lincoln, and test your knowledge of presidential history at touch-screen quiz kiosks.

2. Review Lincoln’s first take on the Emancipation Proclamation. Through February 18, the Library of Congress will have on display the first draft of the Emancipation Proclamation, handwritten by President Lincoln himself (the final version can be seen at the National Archives). Take a free, one-hour walking tour and ask about family-focused itineraries, which are offered during peak times.

3. Get to know America’s “First Dogs.” The popular Newseum has the scoop on presidential pooches, including Bo, President Obama’s Portuguese Water Dog. Get to know the nation’s leaders through the eyes of their beloved best friends, then check out artifacts from the campaign trail at the “Every Four Years: Presidential Campaigns and the Press” exhibit (now through January 27).

4. Stand where Lincoln was assassinated. No trip to D.C. is complete without a visit to Ford’s Theatre, particularly now that the fateful event has been dramatized anew in Lincoln. If you rent an Acoustiguide (they have versions for both kids and adults) for your self-guided tour, you’ll get the added benefit of character voices and sound effects.

5. Read the Charters of Freedom. The Declaration of Independence, the U.S. Constitution, and the Bill of Rights — collectively known as the Charters of Freedom — are on display year-round at the National Archives. Kids can even go online, choose a pen, and add their names to the Declaration of Independence alongside those of the Founding Fathers.

6. Visit Lincoln’s summer home. Head north from the White House to President Lincoln’s Cottage to see where Lincoln was living when he wrote the Emancipation Proclamation. Take a basic guided tour, or sign up for specialty tours, like the Emancipation Tour and the Running for Re-election Tour, for an even deeper look at the man who ended slavery in the United States.

Mount Vernon is just a half-hour's drive from D.C. (Photograph by Damian Entwistle, Flickr)

7. Learn which indian chiefs attended Roosevelt’s inauguration. The National Museum of the American Indian will feature a photo exhibition (now through February 25) focusing on President Theodore Roosevelt’s 1905 inaugural parade, including the six indian chiefs who rode in the parade to represent the needs of their people.

8. Visit the only presidential library in D.C. Head to the Woodrow Wilson House in the heart of Embassy Row for a video presentation followed by a walk through our 28th president’s office, kitchen, and chef’s pantry. Few rooms are roped off, so feel free to play the piano or even billiards on your way to see the paintings, tapestries, and statues given as gifts by dignitaries worldwide.

9. Take the Oath of Office. Presidential hopefuls can visit George Washington’s home, Mount Vernon, just a half-hour drive outside the city to place their hand on a replica of the bible America’s first president used to take his oath of office (once you lift your hand, the crowd cheers). Kids, enjoy the George Washington Presidential Scavenger Hunt as you poke around the estate looking for clues.

10. Get a good look at every U.S. president. Only at the National Portrait Gallery (and the White House) can you see a portrait of very single U.S. president. Be prepared to do more than walk from painting to painting, too. There are loads of engaging family programs, including Portrait Story Days, designed to educate visitors about the presidents in a fun, kid-friendly way.

If you’re planning to be in town on Monday, January 21, the day of the public swearing-in ceremony and parades, remember that only the National Museums of American History and Natural History will be open.

Erin Gifford is a mother of four who shares family travel advice on her award-winning blog, Kidventurous. Follow her story on Twitter @Kidventurous.

Ginger, cumin, sweet paprika, turmeric, and ras el hanout (a special Moroccan blend of dozens of spices) fill my kitchen, fragrant souvenirs from a very savory adventure to the northwest corner of Africa. The aromas call to mind tales with native Berber, and multiple European and African accents — just like the cultural olio that is Morocco.

Spices are on offer everywhere in the medina. (Photograph by Lisa T.E. Sonne)

But every time I tell old friends about my culinary exploits, I only get so far before someone says something like: “Hold your horses, camels, snake charmers, and flying carpets! You cooked?”

I just smile (me, the epic eater who prefers campfires and fireplaces to ovens and stoves) and explain that I wanted to travel to an exotic place where I could learn something I might use the rest of my life. And the opportunity to discover my inner chef in Morocco seemed like a wish come true.

It’s only been a couple of months since I was eating Berber crepes and fresh pomegranate sitting in the rooftop restaurant of the Riad Mimouna with a view of the Atlantic splashing against the rocks, and the ancient walled medina outside below. Perched above the seaside city of Essaouira on the northwest coast of Morocco, our turbaned guide with Access Trips, Yosef, was briefing me and my five new charming travel mates (ages 24 to 74) about our first cooking lesson.

In 12 hours we would be back in this restaurant eating a fish tajine with chermoula sauce and a traditional Moroccan chopped salad that we had prepared ourselves (follow in our footsteps with the recipes below), with four live musicians performing Gnaoua — a kind of sub-Saharan Islamic rhythmic spiritual music — with tassels aswirl as they played and sang.

Fresh is the name of the game in Morocco. (Photograph by Lisa T.E. Sonne)

But first we would work up an appetite, and delight in a sensory overload, walking the narrow passages of the medina below us jammed with fabrics, spices, ceramics, woodcrafts, and gorgeously carved doorways that hinted at great mysteries inside.

We would also visit the busy port to peruse the beautifully displayed fish and crustaceans of the day. Those of us who weren’t off photographing minarets and fishing boats (that would be me) learned to pick out the white fish we would take back to our riad to cook for our supper.

My fellow cooking comrades. (Photograph by Lisa T.E. Sonne)

The kitchen was on the highest floor, and I must admit that for this first cooking lesson, despite the enticing raw ingredients laid out for us and the lovely instruction we were given, I was quite distracted by the “magic hour” sunset calling to me from the windows.

After some good chopping, I even left my more talented cooking partner so I could take photos of the irresistible panoramic scenery. While she layered our fish and vegetables in the ceramic tajine, I was outside clicking and musing about the ships that had come for centuries before bearing goods and new ideas.

The cooking lessons did end up hooking me over the next few days despite the allure of equally sensuous locales. Instead of clicking photos, I spent my time mixing up marinades, fluffing couscous that was lighter than angel’s wings, and kneading sugary almond pastilla dough fit for angels.

I seem to remember that the trick of the tales of Arabian Nights was to leave the story unfinished, so I will leave you to unleash your own inner chef with these tasty recipes…

Distribute the carrot slices across the bottom of the tagine. Criss-cross the celery sticks on top of the carrot slices. Arrange the potato slices on top of the celery sticks, forming a bed for the fish.
Remove fish from marinade and place on top of potato. Reserve the extra marinade for later use.
Arrange bell pepper strips and tomato slices on top of fish. Top with rest of marinade and garnish with olives.
Cover the tajine, and cook over low to medium-low heat for about 1 1/2 hours, or until the fish and potatoes test done. Reduce the sauce if necessary until it is quite thick and mostly oils.
(Note: If you feel there is an excessive amount of liquid in the tajine, it’s easiest to ladle the sauce into a pan to reduce it, and then pour the sauce back over the fish before serving.)